


to have and to hold

by lilypadwriter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Affection, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-23 19:05:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18708121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilypadwriter/pseuds/lilypadwriter
Summary: Ron touching Harry throughout the years.





	to have and to hold

**Author's Note:**

> i just love these boys so damn much

to someone who had spent a childhood surrounded by family, a simple touch (a brush of fingertips against a shoulder, the lacing of fingers, the ruffling of hair) meant nothing. as the story goes, harry had not been blessed with such things. his childhood was defined by starvation. there were no kind words in the dursley household, nevermind the affection of soft touch. 

he was eleven and scrawny and far too world-weary when he held his first hand. ron curled his fingers around harry’s. the receiving hand laid limp for a long moment, testing the touch. like every part of ron, the fingers were long and thin. freckles dotted them, the fine sprinkling of ginger that lit up ron’s entire body. an entire star system was imprisoned in his skin. 

“and then fred said that i was just overreacting, but…” his voice was still warbling on, the broad accent that hinged a little on common - did that even apply to the wizarding world? harry was watching their hands and not really listening. ron was brushing his thumb in circles against harry’s knuckle. “are you alright, harry?” ron asked, head lowering to watch him.

“more than,” he promised.

* * *

when he stays at the burrow, his nightmares are few and far between. that didn’t mean they wouldn’t come. there’s flashes of things he doesn’t understand, won’t understand until he’s much older. magic that belonged in shadows and whispers of death. he’s whimpering and twisting in the bedsheets, and then -  _ then _ . he’s barely awake when an arm throws itself around his waist. there’s nothing, and then there’s sensation. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” ron whispers. perhaps that was the same night they had held hands under the table at dinner. percy had looked at them, as if he knew, as if he sensed, but nothing was said and there was so much bustle at the table - who would pay attention to them? not even ginny had seemed particularly interested in them on that sweltering afternoon. “I’m here.”

ron’s hand was weighty as it rested against his stomach. the thin cotton of his shirt offered little resistance to the touch, a non-existent barrier. he could feel every flutter of ron’s long fingers. they’re against his chest next, over his heart, squeezing him closer. “It’s okay.”

his lips were right against harry’s neck. every time he spoke, he felt the damp brush of them. his breathing calmed, his body relaxed.

he didn’t sleep, but he found peace.

* * *

 

not every touch between them is earth-shattering. most of them aren’t. his entire world isn’t defined or redefined by ron. 

sometimes, there’s a pat on the back as the two part in the morning. there’s ron flicking peas at him at dinner to get his attention in the great hall, when draco had left him agitated and distracted. ron always wipes away at the residue. there’s harry’s knuckles rasping against ron’s shoulder blades, all absent-minded, as the two pretend to study but really used it as an excuse to sprawl out together. there’s quick, one-armed hugs after quidditch matches. 

it’s nothing, really. ron touches him like it’s no big deal. like it’s normal. harry doesn’t know how to tell ron that it’s everything, that it means everything.

* * *

summer had come too quickly and brought a desperate heat with it. nothing could be done without enticing a wrathful sweat. even quidditch had become far too strenuous. the burrow had swept away its noise and chaos. there was barely a peep as harry and ron spread across the bed, trying to find some salvation from the heat. the lack of noise would have been suspicious to harry, if he could focus on anything but the amount of skin ron was showing. 

his shirt was in a discarded lump on the floor. his jeans were rolled up, exposing long legs and knobbly knees. it was pleasing to know that ron was freckled all over. harry had always guessed at it - the two had been near-naked around each other, yes, but those weren’t moments for looking. they turned back-to-back in their bedroom, in the locker room, affording each other privacy. ron didn’t seem to mind that he was staring. or, maybe he hadn’t noticed.

“hermione said she might visit for a week or so, but you know what her parents are like. once they get her back…” the wonderful thing with ron is that he could talk for hours and hours without harry ever getting a word in. all he had to do was sit there, passive and half-focused, and ron would take care of the rest. 

gently, harry lifted his hand to rest against his stomach. the skin went taunt and then relaxed in a blink of the eye, ron never once pausing his ranting about what hermione’s parents were like. ron’s hand covered his. there was no brawn in his fingers, nor around his shoulders. the twins had taken a while to fill out, though. ron was still lanky and a little too tall, hitting his head against door frames whenever he walked. harry’s head joined his hand. 

“so, you never really know when hermione is coming or going….” ron huffed, fingers threading through harry’s hair, trying to smooth it down. 

* * *

he doesn’t notice how odd his relationship is with ron until he reaches out to grab hermione’s hand in the library and she stares at him. “are you alright, harry?” she asked, gently unlacing their fingers. 

“oh. yeah,” he replied, slipping his hand under his thigh.

he doesn’t notice how odd his relationship is until draco snarls at him - “dating a wealsey, are you? i didn’t know ginger was anyone’s type.” 

he doesn’t know how odd it is until ginny quietly takes him aside, and asks, in her low little voice, if he’s dating her brother. he spluttered out a response that wasn’t quite a no, because was it a no? 

* * *

they’re alone in their room, as they often are. no one in gryffindor really cared about the wonderboy harry potter anymore, apart from ron and hermione, and that was fine by him. he never asked to be the chosen one - no one ever asks, do they? 

“then, she put my hand here.” ron is mumbling more to himself than bothering to talk to harry. his brow has creased in intense concentration, tip of his tongue held between his teeth. his hand pressed against the small of harry’s back, a little to the left, their bodies shuffling closer. there’s heat all around them and it’s mid-winter. ron won’t look him in the eyes. harry couldn’t stop looking at him. 

“like that?”

“like that. “ when harry breathes, his chest presses a little against ron’s. “then, um, she put her hands on my shoulders.” harry does as he’s instructed. ron lifts his head to stare, and then drops it again. “and then she did something with her feet that i can’t remember.” 

“i think it was like this, uh.” harry fumbles his way through a box step, trying not to step on ron’s toes or trip over himself, which was far harder than mastering any spell or potion. his fingers are gripping tightly at the other’s shoulders, staring at the parting of his hair. he wondered how many freckles were hidden in the locks. 

“right. just like this?” ron tried to mirror his steps without harry’s guidance. he only stepped on the other’s feet twice! that, at least, was a good enough starting point. 

“no, i don’t think you are.” both of ron’s hands were pressing into the small of his back, two bodies subtlety rocking as if they were caught by a wind or trying to follow some beat that existed only in that moment. 

“can we stay like this a little longer?”

“yes.”

* * *

the war is over, but the ache remains. it is a constant weight pressing against his chest, the thundering half-dreams of a face he’ll never forget. it’s against his lower back and his shoulders, places ron soothes over with his hands. they, like him, never stop being long and slender. it’s early morning or late night, the cusp where time is nothing and the world has stopped, and ron’s fingers are rubbing gentle circles into his shoulder blades. 

“nightmare?” ron whispers. they’re so close that the words are puffed right across his skin. 

“yeah.” his eyelids were already drooping closed. there was the tug of sleep and the press of ron’s hands and the screams, all of the screams, melting into one shrieking noise.

“I’m here, it’s okay,” ron promises and harry falls under. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> please leave kudos and a comment! they're my cake and i'm hungry!


End file.
